Ominous portents

My first real post on this blog has just been lost to posterity. My computer has taken to turning itself off when moved, one of many little foibles it seems to have acquired recently which can probably only be dealt with by a professional. The problem there is that before I take it to one, I need to remove pornography, naked pictures of self and others and all the other things you don't want the guy at the apple shop making copies of for all his friends. Anyway, the point is, I feel this does not bode well. What would seem perhaps like some minor setback were it to take place in the middle of such an endeavour assumes the proportions of a true omen of doom when it occurs at the very first step. Nonetheless, I shall continue, though not without a vague sense of unesase.

The post which has dissolved from a multilayered structure of syntax, grammar, meaning and philosophical speculation into a mere fuzz of electrons was to do with a particular quote by William Blake, which goes like this:

How do you know, but ev'ry bird that cuts the airy way,
is an immense world of delight, clos'd by your senses five?

It's a powerful question, posed, as far as I can tell, by a raving lunatic, which should perhaps stand as a warning to those who would think too deeply on such things. Still, I can't get it out of my mind. It's not so much the question itself, which is fascinating, but the thought of the kind of mind that would think to ask it in the first place. There's just something about it. It has a poetry and a humility to it, and it stirs something in me on a level deeper than the intellect. I would go on, in fact I did, for some time, but it's getting late, and I'm hungry, so that'll have to do for now. Let's hope my next effort fares better.